"Come home to Thanksgiving," wrote that lady soon after the work of Fidelia's fourth year in the seminary had commenced. She had written the same thing every year, but Fidelia had never been able to accept the invitation. This year she had a great desire to accept it, for various reasons; so, though the journey was long, and the time she could give for the visit was short, she found herself in her friend's house on the eve of Thanksgiving Day; and among the many thousands who, throughout the land, had that day turned their faces homeward, few could have been welcomed more kindly than she. Thanksgiving Day was kept in the town of C--much as it is kept everywhere throughout the country, in which there is so much over which a thankful people may rejoice. Everybody, except the anxious housekeepers who had dinner on their minds, was expected to go to church in the early part of the day, and join in thanksgiving with their neighbours. The Wainrights all went, and so did Fidelia. There were many people present. The service was simple and devout; the sermon was appropriate; and all things went as usual till it came to the singing of the thanksgiving anthem, and that went better than usual, because Fidelia joined in it, and put all her glad and thankful heart into her wonderful voice as she sang. She even sang the "solo" which Mrs Wainright was expected to sing. But a whispered entreaty from her friend, which there was time neither to answer nor to refuse, gave the honour to Fidelia. Clear and full and sweet rose her voice, and filled the house, thrilling and satisfying all the listening hearts and ears with the melody, till the saintly old souls among them asked themselves whether even the heavenly music could be sweeter. Some one sitting near the door rose when the other voices came in again, and walked up the aisle till he came to a point where, looking up, the choir in the gallery could be seen. There he stood till the anthem was ended, and then moved quietly away. He was a stranger, and no one took much notice of him at the moment, though some among them remembered him afterwards. Lucy Wainright noticed him, and spoke of it when she came home. "It must have been some stranger. No one of our people would have done such a thing," said she. "It must have been that he wanted to see where the voice came from," said her sister. "I do not wonder," said their father. "Miss Marsh, how came you to take the place of honour to-day?" "I don't know," said Fidelia. Mrs Wainright laughed. "I don't know either. I did not think of it a second before I spoke. It was a risk, I acknowledge--or it would have been with any one but Fidelia." "A risk! It might have caused a breakdown. She might have refused." "No; I was sure of Fidelia!" And while they went on talking the door-bell rang, and the maid brought in a card and gave it to Mrs Wainright. "A stranger? Did he ask for me? I do not know the name. Jabez Ainsworth!"